Because he had been feeling insatiably thirsty today—a direct result of draining Madison last night—Zane decided that testing his control would not be wise. Holding his breath, he pulled Barbie down onto his cock, forcing every long, thick inch inside of her all at once. She shrieked, tried to rise. He tightened his grip, the flesh of her hips bulging around his fingers as he held her firmly in place. Whimpering, she grabbed his wrists. He growled. Her hands swiftly returned to her thighs. She deepened her breaths. After a few of them her body relaxed.
Pulling Barbie back against him, Zane sucked air in between his clenched teeth. The crushing weight in his chest instantly vanished. Although Blodbad descendents did not need oxygen in order to live, they were punished with indescribable pain if they stopped breathing in order to avoid the scent of blood.
I was breathing this morning and yet the scent of the girl’s blood eluded me. How is that possible?
Zane’s answer was silence, the same as it had been each time he had asked Blodbad that question.
Barbie released a half-laugh, half-moan as her head fell back against his shoulder. “That hurt.”
“Yes,” he growled, “it did.”
“More,” she breathed, tugging hard on her erect nipples. “Please, Master—more.”
Zane repositioned himself so that he was kneeling on the bed with Barbie on his lap. Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he began pounding into her hard and fast, her sweaty breasts slapping noisily against his forearms. “Yes, yes! I’m coming! Oh Za—”
His name turned into a gasp as he sank his fangs into her neck, gulping down a mouthful of blood before pulling them out. Because of the healing properties in his saliva, the wound closed almost instantaneously.
Following one last shudder, Barbie went limp. “Zane,” she breathed, “oh God, Zane.”
He licked the blood off his lips as the woman on the TV screen lapped at the milky-white fluid dripping from the tip of her partner’s cock. “Again,” Zane demanded, continuing his thrusts at a gentler, slower pace.
Barbie picked up the red vibrator next to her, placed the buzzing tip against her clit. “God, I love you,” she panted, eyelids fluttering as she turned her face toward him. “So...fucking...much.”
“Then cease talking,” Zane growled. Before I say to hell with this convenient set-up and rip your goddamn throat out.
After Barbie had climaxed four more times Zane decided to leave before he acted upon the nearly irresistible thought. Pushing her off of him, he stood up.
“But I don’t have to be at the club for three more hours,” she protested as he jerked on his slacks.
“Then I suggest you get some rest—you look a little drained.”
Barbie crossed her arms over her breasts, her brows furrowing as Zane yanked on his shirt. “You’re going to see her, aren’t you?”
He snatched his watch off the black night stand, shoved the piece of jewelry into his pocket. “I am afraid you will have to be more specific,” he replied curtly, stepping into his shoes.
“You know who I’m talking about,” she snapped. “That skinny, titless little brunette who just so happens to have tonight off.”
Zane leaned forward. “Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.”
“I am not—”
Barbie gasped as he seized a handful of her hair. “Were you about to lie to me, Pet?”
Tears filled her wide eyes. “No, Master!”
Zane bared his teeth as he jerked her head back hard, making her whimper. “No?!”
“Please, let me explain! I’m not jealous of her, only of the time she gets to spend with you, that’s all! So I didn’t and wasn’t going to lie to you!” She sucked in a shallow breath. “See? Do you see now?”
With a tender smile, Zane cupped Barbie’s flushed cheeks with both hands. He gently traced the outline of their rosy blotches with the pads of his thumbs while he gazed into her eyes. “Yes,” he replied in a soft tone, “I do.”
Relief washed over Barbie’s face as she released a lengthy sigh, the tension in her rigid body seeping out of her like the air of a slashed tire. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Alas I am afraid your gratitude is premature, Pet, as I have yet to reveal precisely what my eyes have shown me today.”
Barbie’s astonished gaze followed Zane as he stood up and then took a step back. “Once again you have failed to adhere to the terms of our arrangement,” he said in the tone guaranteed to brook no opposition, “and once again my only alternative is to put a moderate amount of space and time between us. Do you understand?”
She bowed her head in defeat. “Yes, Sir.”
“And why must I do this?”
“Because you find my possessiveness...grievous, displeasing and unpardonable.”
“Correct. Now—how many days did I decide upon the last time this infraction occurred?”
“Five. Five days, Sir.”
“Then I shall see you next Sunday,” he said, turning away.
“A week? I’m not going to see you for an entire—”
“Unless,” Zane interrupted, pausing in the doorway with his back to her, “I opt to never return.”
He heard a sharp gasp and then the bed squeak. Muffled footsteps crossed the plush, crimson carpet of the bedroom. Zane glanced over his shoulder just as Barbie reached for it. He bared his teeth. She yanked away her hand as if he had bitten her. ‘S-Sorry.”
“Lying, crying and touching,” he said, conveying his disapproval with a curt tone and stern gaze. “Ours being a non-exclusive relationship is not the only detail you seem to have forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten any of it,” she said in a small voice.
Zane arched a brow in skepticism. Barbie averted her gaze. “I guess it’s the PMS that’s making me act stupid today...”
“Then I suggest a trip to the pharmacy.”
When Barbie looked into his eyes again, hers were filled with a desperation that made Zane want to snap her neck. “Please say you’ll come back. Please.”
Looking away, he feigned deep contemplation. After a long enough dramatic pause, he replied, “It is not customary for me to offer second chances, Barbie. Do not make me regret doing so with you.”
She released the breath she’d been holding in one long whoosh. “I won’t,” she called after him as he charged down the hallway. “I swear I won’t!”
Zane paused halfway down the stairs to look back at Barbie. She was still standing in the doorway, her face beaming with the love she thought she felt for him. It angered him for he knew it was a lie; what she felt was unadulterated lust, plain and simple. If he were short, skinny and pale like Samuel, she would not have given him a first glance. And if she knew what he really was, she would want to destroy him, not worship him.
His new neighbor, however, seemed unaffected by his looks and charm, which, oddly enough, he found more offensive than impressive.
As Zane returned to the top of the stairs, Barbie asked in a hopeful voice, “Did you change your mind, Master?”
“Yes,” he replied, drumming the pads of his fingers on the banister. “I do not see the point in driving back to the country for a shower when there is a perfectly adequate one right here.” He gave her an arch look. “You do not mind if I get ready for my date with Candi here, do you?”
Barbie gave him a smile that did not reach her eyes, which had lost their sparkle and revealed how she truly felt on the matter. “Be my guest,” she said, indicating the bedroom behind her with a wave of her hand.
Grinning at her decision to avoid answering his question, Zane patted Barbie on the head as he slid by her. “Thank you, Pet. Now fetch me a change of clothes from the closet.”
Chapter 5
The front door creaked open.
Lacey tightened her grip on the recliner’s arms as she took a shallow breath of the musty air.
Following a loud click, light flooded the dark living room.
She nar
rowed her eyes as they met his. “Finally.”
Clint blinked, glanced at his watch. “It’s almost two in the morning, kiddo.”
“Mighty fine detective skills you have there.” She huffed. “Too bad you didn’t think to use them to research this psycho town before moving us here.”
“Lacey, please...” He inhaled and exhaled heavily, dragged a hand down his face. “I’m too tired for this.”
“Join the club,” she replied as he knelt down beside the recliner. “I’m exhausted.”
Clint pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the side pocket, took a long swallow. “Then go to bed and get some sleep.”
“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” She snorted. “Oh yeah that’s right—because I could have been killed today.”
“What?” A thick wrinkle appeared between his brows. “How?”
“A man showed up after you left this morning. He let himself in.”
Clint put down the bottle and grabbed her hands, squeezing them tight as his bloodshot eyes swept over her. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
See? He does care! Lacey’s heart swelled. “No to both questions.”
Clint blinked in confusion. “You’re not okay—”
“Of course I’m not!”
“But you’re not hurt either?”
“That’s not the point!”
“All right, kiddo. Just calm down—”
“Don’t you get it?” Lacey jerked her hands out of his. “It’s not safe here!”
Clint dragged one hand down his face while grabbing the whiskey bottle with the other. After taking a long pull from it, he released a harsh breath. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Oh forget it,” she barked, flying out of the chair.
Standing up, he grabbed her arm. She snapped her eyes to his. “Just trying to figure this out, kiddo,” he said in a placating tone, “that’s all.”
“Bullshit. You’re looking for a reason to justify staying.”
“And you for one to warrant leaving.”
“If a half-naked burglar breaking and entering isn’t a good enough excuse to get the hell out of here—” Lacey yanked her arm out of his hand “—then I don’t know what would be.”
“A half-naked burglar.” Shaking his head, Clint exhaled forcefully as he flopped down on the recliner. “Well...” He took another drink of whiskey, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I’m sure he was here just to steal some clothes.”
Lacey gaped at him. “You don’t believe me.”
“You went from a man letting himself in to a half-naked burglar breaking and entering.”
“So you think I’m making it all up?”
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“And you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not having this conversation with you again, Lacey.”
“Truth hurts, huh, Clint?”
He took another drink, eyes closing as his head fell back against the recliner. With a dismissive snort and a wave of her hand, Lacey stormed out of the living room and up to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
I am so fucking stupid.
For a moment, when he’d held her hands, she had thought her father actually gave a damn about her. Had believed that the concern in his eyes was for her.
Crossing the sparsely furnished room, Lacey kicked aside the empty box that had contained the handful of items she hadn’t been forced to sell. The twin bed, which Clint had bought for twenty-five dollars at a thrift store after selling her queen-sized canopy bed for three hundred, creaked under her weight as she fell back on to it.
Lacey was surprised Clint hadn’t raced upstairs at the word burglar to make sure none of Amelia’s belongings had been stolen, including the soft, king-sized bed that he got to sleep on. His bedroom was the storage unit for everything that she had left behind: make-up, perfume, clothes, jewelry. He refused to part with any of it. When they had needed extra money, it was his and Lacey’s stuff that he sold, not Amelia’s.
Never Amelia’s.
Lacey’s most prized possession had been her collection of Beanie Babies. She’d seen her first one a week before her third birthday and, according to Clint, had thrown a temper tantrum in the store when they were about to leave without Chocolate the Moose. After that he’d bought her seven a year: New Year’s and Valentine’s Day, Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and her birthday. Ghoul the Boy Ghost had been her thirteenth birthday present and the last gift she had received from Clint.
Over the span of almost eight years, Clint had sold all seventy of her Beanie Babies, including her favorite: an original, royal-blue “Peanut the Elephant”. Worth thousands of dollars because of a production error—the item was supposed to have been in a light-blue fabric only—her father had traded it to an avid collector for the hunk of junk in the driveway.
Lacey had begged him to let her keep it. One thirty minute guilt trip later, she’d thrown it at him and told him to shove the damn thing up his ass. I wished you’d be a little more understanding is what he’d said.
Priceless.
On that sweat-dripping-down-between-the-crack-of-your-butt hot July day two months ago, she had finally realized she would always come second to Amelia, the woman who had abandoned them.
The woman her father still searched for.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Lacey exhaled, curling into a fetal position.
Obviously, it ran in the family.
Chapter 6
Lacey’s eyelids felt like they’d been glued together, her body like it was made of cement. In between her deep breaths came the popping, crunching sound of tires on gravel.
He forgot my cleaning supplies. Nothing to do today...again.
She forced her head to the side and her eyes open. Squinting from the brightness of the golden rays streaming into the room, Lacey looked at the alarm clock. Seven-fifteen. About four and a half hours of sleep. Not nearly enough.
May as well spend the day in bed.
Lacey rolled over, yawning as she snuggled her cheek against the pillow.
Serial Killer Jogger.
She sat bolt upright.
What time had it been when I saw him?
Lacey’s eyes darted to the window a second before she did the same. She looked in the direction the man had come from, but like it was the other way, only a few feet of road was visible before a dense stretch of trees swallowed it.
Does he jog every morning? Will he stop to check on me again?
Lacey pressed her cheek against the cool windowpane, straining to see something, anything.
She saw nothing.
Deep inhale, slow exhale as she backed away from the window.
Does he live nearby? How close? Is it just him or does he have a family?
Lacey didn’t know which was worse now—not having or having neighbors. Being alone in the middle of nowhere wasn’t nearly as bad as being alone in the middle of nowhere with quite possibly only one other person who could very well be a health-conscious psychopath.
Paranoia, party of one—right over here, please.
“Pepper spray,” Lacey murmured, undressing as she walked across the room. “Definitely a must-have.” She swung open the closet door. “Two ca—”
The last word turned into a snort of disgust when Lacey caught a glimpse of her naked body in the full-length mirror she’d forgotten was there. She quickly looked away, anger bubbling up inside of her. Amelia’s second home had been the beauty salon owned by her best friend, a short, pudgy woman named Beatrice who lived to kiss Amelia’s toned ass, which meant whatever she wanted she got—and Lacey did, too.
The facials, manicures and pedicures had been boring but tolerable. The anal bleaching—not so much. After the latter, Lacey had begun secretly referring to their weekly trips as Mortifying Monday’s. And after years of enduring full-body waxes—the first of which Lacey had received on her tenth birthday—her
hair had simply stopped growing. Now, every time she saw herself naked, she was reminded of that prepubescent girl who had been willing to do anything for her mother’s approval. And because of it, she hated herself more than she did Amelia.
You’re supposed to be focusing your hate on him, not her or yourself.
“Get with the program, dumb ass,” Lacey mumbled.
She gave her underarms a tentative sniff, pleased when the scent of vanilla filled her nose—a person could skimp on a lot of things but a good deodorant wasn’t one of them. As much as she’d like a shower, there was no way in hell she was going to use the one in the indoor outhouse until she’d thoroughly disinfected it.
Lacey slipped on Tigger underwear, matching socks, a burgundy tank top and denim jeans in a super faded blue and then slammed the closet door, making a mental note to get rid of the mirror even if it meant having to smash the glass.
Her painfully empty stomach rumbled as she stepped into her shoes. Even though she hadn’t eaten in two days, she wasn’t hungry enough to choke down another pack of Ramen noodles. Recalling the little store they had driven by the day before last, she retrieved her keys and money from the purse on the floor next to the bed, slipped them into her front pocket.
Serial Killer Jogger.
Lacey’s shoes squeaked as she came to an abrupt stop in the hallway. She glanced over her shoulder and into her bedroom, chewing on her thumbnail as she eyed the window.
Chicken shit.
Lacey glared at the nasty commode as she entered the bathroom. She lined the seat with a thick layer of toilet paper, peed for what felt like two minutes straight, and then washed her hands. Took a swig from the bottle of mouthwash stuffed into the small box on the floor. Swished the cool, tingling liquid around in her mouth as she ran downstairs.
Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy) Page 4
